Terms of Engagement
by BRNZ
Summary: Crowley ponders the human condition until Aziraphale rips the rug out from under both their feet. Crowley has to give lessons in boundaries and consent and Aziraphale appears to have surprisingly hidden depths. CW for non consensual discusssion, not explicit, much language and SO MUCH ANGST
1. Chapter 1

Crowley chose to use his body as a weapon. At first it was a response to being cursed with serpent eyes, in his pain and anger, all he was capable of was lashing out. The human race was smaller then but its intrinsic nature had pretty much solidified, so Crowley dedicated a great deal of time mingling with them and learning.

After all, it was the questions and the wanting to know more, to know WHY that had led him to the Fall, so he saw absolutely no reason to stop now. They were fascinating creatures, and early on he realised that they were equally as capable of heart stopping kindness as they were of utterly evil horrors. He wasn't sure if this was a feature or a flaw, so he spent several centuries immersing himself in all possible ranges of the spectrum, to learn what he could.

And, oh the things he learned. First, he learned to shape his exterior to a hard cuttingedged brutal beauty and then wield it like the weapon it was. His demonic nature was a lodestone for many, the appeal was magnetic, regardless of gender, or often intention.

He learned social rituals, and while he never found any appeal in eating the food (he could and occasionally did, but didn't enjoy it), alcohol in all its forms quickly became his favourite drug of choice. That it was something humans did frequently in all social circles made it much easier for him to interact and 'pass' convincingly as one, and his ability to sober up and never suffer from a hangover (after the first memorable experience) gave him notable advantage.

He gained a reputation for many things, including being a convivial drinking companion. He spent time in the bleakest hovels, amongst the sick and dying, dined with the most powerful, most provocative and most salacious of nobles. He became known for the sly ready wit, the most well timed cutting remark, a mere quirk of saturnine lips could be the rise or fall of an endless supply of courtiers.

Humanity created many new things to experience, various fine fabrics that could be made into clothes. He learned to use those as part of his visual weaponry and always had a very firm sense of self and style and way of presentation. There is a certain way to combine elegance and menace in even the most sumptuous of clothing styles. Crowley learned that the way you wear something is equally as important as what it looked like.

Body language fascinated him for the longest time, the way humans unconsciously interacted with each other, picking up on so many subtle signals and responding. Just one step too far into someones personal space had so many possibilities to manipulate them. He became slightly taller over time, allowing him to loom menacingly (preferably out of the shadows). Sometimes it appeared that he had too many teeth in that vicious knifeblade of a smile, or that the ones that were there were somehow longer and sharper than they should be.

The tilt of the head, the measured pause between words, the lightest touch of a finger, a lowering of the eyelids. Sarcasm was something he totally claimed for his side, and did much to develop the artform in his own right.

Of course the banquet of sex constantly paraded before him was sampled extensively. Sin was his raison d'être after all, and while tempting people into it was one thing, actively participating made the temptation so much easier. They fell over themselves to get a sampling of demonic delights, and for a long time Crowley was only too willing to oblige.

Whores quickly became his favourite people, they had a refreshingly clear eyed view of the world, and a very straight forward approach to the mechanics. Many of the older women (and some of the men) had fascinating insights into the endlessly complex human relationship machine, and Crowley learned much from them, spending hours discussing, debating, dissecting and doing his best to understand humanity at its most basic level.

It paid off over the hundreds and then thousands of years. When he exerted himself to be charming and engaged, Crowley was a force to be reckoned with, and fortunes and kingdoms rose and fell at his whim (or the instructions of Hell).

Eventually he got tired of the endless futility of it all. He could see that humanity had damned themselves already (by the Industrial Revolution it was inevitable) that he couldn't see the point in trying so hard. Fuck, they had come up with the Spanish Inquisition all by themselves, it was sheer coincidence he happened to be in the area at the time. He got a commendation for that, and spent a month vomiting over the horrors he had seen.

He surrounded himself with the finest art, slept on the softest sheets – sleep became a habit and then a necessity for an emotionally exhausted demon. It became one of his two forms of escape from the continual reminder of what he was.

The other escape was the angel. At first they were wary of each other, being on opposing sides and so on, but as they say, familiarity breeds contempt, and they bonded over mutual contempt for the requirements of their respective sides rather than contempt for each other. For when you have only one other being in your current plane of existence who truly knows what you are, and you keep running into them at random intervals, it becomes harder to distance yourself from them.

Especially when your 'side' as such, has no real idea about what life among humanity is like, and sometimes you just need an epic bitch and drinking session. Plus the angel was 'nice', but not in the annoying angelic holy way, just inherently nice. He expected wiles and temptation from the demon, and twitted him about it regularly, but he wasn't nasty about it. He wasn't guarded and hostile, in fact he was welcoming and friendly.

So over time, they became friends, and eventually The Arrangement came into being, and they consorted even more as a result. He saved the angel's ass on many occasions, and similarly rescued himself now and then as well.

They dined out everywhere they met up, with the angel choosing to eat every possible food choice available, and Crowley was happy to sit, drink and just ….relax…. in his presence. The angel didn't judge him for his nature, he accepted the necessity that for the light to be seen, the dark must be present. Crowley always wondered if Aziraphale realised that Crowley was a pretty pathetic excuse for a demon in comparison to someone like Hastur or Ligur, and was grateful as a result. He never asked, though.

In general, they rubbed along pretty nicely over the centuries. Sometimes didn't see each other for decades or longer, Crowley slept away the entirety of the 19th century (the 16th and 17th had been pretty lively times for both of them) but the 20th century had been very engaging for him. He adored the mechanical improvements, and his Bentley became his most prized possession. Technology supplied endless fascinations, electricity led to so many possibilities. The Internet was a hotbed of opportunities for demonic interventions, and he didn't even have to leave home. Cellphones gave him the internet in his pocket, and even more possibilities for creative meddling (he was particularly proud of the selfie thing and social media in general got him even more commendations).

Then unexpectedly it all threatened to come to an end, and only with the help of an angel, a witch, the Antichrist and his friends and a random assortment of strangers, were they able to avert it. He and Aziraphale were now persona non grata with their respective sides, and they both knew that repercussions would be quick and almost certainly destructive.

They had spent the bus ride back to London discussing the options, and came up with the plan, that remarkably worked, and at the very least gave them some breathing space. And now here they were, at the angel's favourite place, lunching at the Ritz, drinking champagne in celebrations.

Yet, in all the thousands of years of learning that Crowley had spent with humanity, the one lock he had never managed to crack was the one that contained the answer to the question in front of him.

What would he do about the angel he had been in love with for as long as he could remember?

The angel whom, he was pretty sure now, actually understood how he felt, but didn't acknowledge it in any obvious way. Crowley didn't know what to do NEXT, and given they were both essentially free agents at this point in the ineffable fucking Great Plan, he figured now was the best time to deal with any pending existential crises likely to be had over the possibility.

But that meant that someone had to say…something…and having successfully surpressed his feelings for the angel for six thousand years, he just simply couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley toyed with his champagne glass idly in his left hand while Aziraphale made tiny moans of delight at the decadent chocolate dessert he had selected off the trolley. His mind wandered off in other avenues that could be responsible for the angel making similar noises, avenues that involved Crowley, nudity, beds, satin sheets and so many other possibilities.

He was so completely lost in the minor fantasy that he lost track of the conversation, and was bought startlingly back to reality by a slightly outraged angelic voice saying "Crowley, Crowley are you listening to me?"

The demon sighed, refocussed his eyes, and swung his head around to address the angel and sniggered, just loud enough for Aziraphale to hear. The angel had a smear of whipped cream on the tip of his pert nose and obviously hadn't noticed, but was staring at him with a stern expression, waiting for the demon to explain the snigger.

Unthinkingly Crowley leaned forward, reaching with his right hand, muttering "oh you have a smudge just here" and swiped the cream smear off with his thumb "there, all gone now, love". He went to reach for a napkin to wipe it off, but his wrist was grabbing in a firm grip before it had moved too far from the angel's face.

With a completely unreadable expression on his face, Aziraphale changed the angle of his grip, and blue eyes staring intently into a pair of dark glassed serpent ones, he murmured quietly but clearly "let me…." Lifting Crowley's thumb to his mouth, he first slowly licked the smear of cream of the side of the thumb, then enclosed it between his lips, tongue oh so slowly swirling around it as he pulled back, until the tip was just touching his moist lips.

_Time stopped._

Crowley's heart stuttered in his chest, his breath stolen utterly away, but he couldn't blink, he couldn't look away, he couldn't…anything.

The angel smirked the tiniest and naughtiest smirk the demon had ever seen, pushed forward again with his mouth, sucking hard on the thumb this time. When it was finally removed from its welcome prison, Aziraphale delicately closed his teeth on the very tip, just firm enough to be felt, and then released his hold on the demon's wrist.

The wine glass still clutched in the demon's left hand shattered in a tinkling sprinkle of glass, and with a bustle of distress a waiter dashed over to attend to the mess, but was waved off by Aziraphale "Not to worry dear chap, we were just leaving anyway".

Crowley was utterly wrecked at this point, and almost fell forward out of the chair, as he was completely off balance. Thank god for the sunglasses, and he struggled to gather his shattered compsure while the angel calmly signalled the waiter for the bill, paid with his credit card and closed out the usual dining rituals.

Time for the demon was still frozen, his brain had completely overloaded at not just the sensuality of what the angel had just done (and in public at the Ritz) but what it might mean….

He levered himself out of the chair, lacking any of his normal boneless insouciance, and was bustled out of the restaurant by an angel delicately asking in a tone of voice clearly pitched for the audience "oh my dearest, you have had a tad too much champagne, haven't you" as they weave rather unsteadily through the tables and head out the front door.

Brain still stuttering, he realises that the angel has bundled both of them into the back of a cab, and they are heading for the bookshop, and he struggles to put together some coherent words and manages "My Bentley?"

"Hush dearest" soothes the angel "The valet will take only the best care of it for you" and Crowley subsides back into the seat. He is pretty sure that the angel has done something to the traffic, as they arrive at the bookshop in a remarkably quick time. The angel manages him out of the cab, and into the bookstore, and he wrangles his legs into enough control to stagger in the direction of the cabinet he knows the angel stashes his spirits.

Grabbing a bottle at random, he removes the cork with his teeth, spits it aside and takes a long pull from the bottle, stopping after a few swallows as the burn from the whisky hits his system, and finally, his head begins to clear.

He startles as a throat is cleared pointedly behind him and Aziraphale snips "Well yes help yourself then" and unexpectedly Crowley slides to the floor as his legs give up completely and he bursts into shattering hysterical laughter. He retains a solid grip on the neck of the bottle, and when he gets his breath back, takes another healthy swig, before setting off in a second round of what could only be called giggles at this point in time.

Aziraphale stares rather disgustedly at what appears to be an utterly drunken demonic display, removing and hanging up his jacket, and idly bustling around, tutting while attempting to look busy, but when Crowley eventually starts to gasp out some words between giggles, he is there paying attention pretty closely.

"I've been wanting to help myself for years, you bloody numpty" and another generous swig from the bottle, and he sits eyes closed, head tilted back against the wall, catching his breath. He startles when the bottle is removed from his grip, and two angelic fists latch themselves on to the lapels of his leather jacket, haul him with surprising strength upright, and then hold him pinned to the wall.

It's a reversal of the last time they did this, and this time it's the angel snarling at him "So why didn't you?" But Crowley is breathless with surprise at being manhandled so effortlessly, and he has lost his glasses somewhere along the way, and the pair of furious blue eyes staring at his from well within kissing distance steals away any ability he has to speak.

He had always been the one in control before, and that was the biggest frustration with his relationship with the angel, in that he couldn't do that. He couldn't manipulate Aziraphale the way he did people. For one thing, the angel simply didn't react the same way, he didn't have the programming. The main thing was though, that their relationship was the one true constant in the demons long, and sometimes tiresome existence. He didn't want to use the angel in such a crude way. But he didn't know any other way to relate, hence the long complicated and so far unsatisfying dance the two of them had been doing around each other.

But this, of all the things he could have dreamed up about how they might end their détente, this was not in any of the scenarios he had anticipated. Control had always been his thing, because relinquishing it required a level of trust that Crowley simply didn't have in any other being in existence. Except possibly, now…..Aziraphale.

Uncertain, he licks his lips and feels the fists in his jacket tighten and hears a change in the breathing of the angel. Crowley closes his eyes, takes a breath, opens his mouth and this time with slow deliberate intent, licks his lips again, and a third time. He opens his eyes halfway, so they are hooded and pauses for a moment. Now they are close enough to feel the breath from each other, and the angel's eyes have changed to a dark stormy grey Crowley has never seen before.

Time has slowed to a merest trickle, and Crowley can feel and hear his every heart beat in slow motion, and they wait for what feels like eternity until Aziraphale makes a wordless guttural _hungry_ sound in the back of his throat, steps forward that one final step until bodies are pressed firmly , and slants his mouth across the demons in a demanding and not unskilled manner.

Aziraphale kisses him like he is drowning, with desperate urgent need, reducing Crowley to helpless moans of need and when he grinds his hips down with devastating accuracy, gasps and breathless whimpers. He couldn't, even in his most lonely state have imagined that his soft, rounded, elegant fussy angel was capable of such ferocity, and fuck it, they were only kissing!

Rallying, he bought his hands up to the fists still clenched in his jacket, and tugged at the wrists to ask the angel to let go. Hoping like heaven that his legs would actually hold him up this time, though the *very* hard length of the angel pressed full length against him kept him firmly in place. Aziraphale took the hint and let go, pulling back, placing his hands on either side of the demon, still effectively pinning him in place, and they stared at each other, both gasping for air like marathon runners.


	3. Chapter 3

"Fuck me angel, where the heaven did that come from?" gasped Crowley, closing his eyes and bowing his head forward, bringing it to rest on the shoulder in front of him. He shuddered at the gentle hand that came up to cup the nape of his neck, scratching long elegant fingers over his scalp, slowing moving up and up, til they grabbed a handful of hair and tugged just painfully enough to make him hiss until he obliged by tilting his head back and to the side. He hung there for a long moment, waiting, unknowing until a voice he knows best in the world hoarsely says "Oh I've wanted to do this to you for *so* long" and a line of hot wet nibbling kisses are planted down the sculpted column of his throat.

Crowley is pinned, and he can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything except _feel_, and he has absolutely no control over the situation. He has never felt so desired, been so aroused, felt so helpless and so wanted as he does right now. Yet he has no idea what will happen next, what he should or might do and the combination of confusion and pleasure overwhelms him and he pushes back with both hands stuttering "Stop, STOP!"

The angel holds on for just an extra moment too long before stepping back, hands in the air and a question in his eyes. Crowley makes a point, steps forward and pushes the angel back far enough he can walk past him and staggers to the sofa he usually naps on and collapses in a boneless heap. He shudders for a moment, as the adrenaline overload kicks in and looks up at the angel walking towards him, now with a look of concern on his face but the demon holds a hand up, and says

"Stop Aziraphale. Its too much….." he shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of lust and desire enough so he can be coherent "You don't just take without asking" _ignoring the voice clamouring inside for the angel to do exactly that again and again and again_

He struggles to define the terms he needs "Boundaries matter. Consent matters. It's a dance, not a war" and he shudders again, the kick from the adrenal glands gets him everytime. The sound of liquid swirling in glass makes him open his eyes to see the half empty bottle of whisky being proffered and with a sigh he grabs it and leans back again. He feels the weight of the angel settle on the end of the sofa and rearranges his legs to make room, pointedly moving them out of touching distance.

"Crowley" the angel says hesitantly "I *am* sorry, its just….."

"Just what" he snarled, because now he has had a chance to breathe, the demon is getting really seriously quite pissy.

"You called me your love" was the quiet response. Crowley startled and realised his head wasn't really back in the game back at the Ritz and he had let the bon mot slip out by accident. Even so, and he sat up and glared at the angel, doing his best to look contrite, while his mussed clothing and kiss stung lips told another story.

"Regardless of what I called you" waving a hand vaguely to encompass all the possibilities "there is no bloody correlation between that and you forcing a demon shaped hole in the wall while you can barely wait to get your cock inside me" he pours on the snark and the sneer and carries on "Is this how its going to be now, where you top me and I have no fucking say in the matter?"

He aims the words and the tone to cut, and he can see that it does, and hard too, but also the slow dawning realisation of what the words he just said actually mean becomes apparent in the pair of startled storm blue eyes meeting his.

_Yes angel, we *are* fucking doing this, apparently_

Abruptly, the angel slides on to the floor in front of him, kneeling very contritely with his head bowed and hands chastely in his lap

_Crowley's brain suddenly hiccups with the many versions it has had of this particular scene, and he shakes his head to shut it up_

"My dearest, I am truly sorry, and you are right, I was very out of line" and his heart wrenches at the beseeching blue eyes turned up to meet his but he grits his jaw, its about the principle now and he dismissively sits back, and idly has another swig from the whisky bottle.

_He's should be fucking legless with half a bottle of good single malt inside him but the adrenaline and then the anger are burning through it, leaving a cold hard fury._

_This moment, should have been precious, special and instead he is left with feeling bitter disappointment._

_Fuck._

"Will you give me a second chance? I can do better, I promise?"

Crowley turns his head and tilts in a way that he knows is aggressively mocking, stares very hard and long at the kneeling angel, until the silence drags well into uncomfortable territory, takes one last swig from the bottle, carefully sets it aside on the floor and leans back.

He flings his hands open in a derisive manner and grates out two words "Prove. It."

Aziraphale goes to rise towards him, but something in the demon's face arrested that movement, and he sat back again, and after a moment said "How should I do that?"

Crowley purses his lips and nods just the once _yes he can listen and learn _and leans back even more bonelessly into the curve of the sofa "Cherish me. Be kind, be gentle. Ask and listen to the replies, verbal and non verbal" a meaningful pause "And none of that passive aggressive letting go shit you pulled back there either".

_A hit, a palpable hit_

"You can start with kissing me. Agreed?"

A blond head nods acceptance "Yes Crowley, I agree to the Terms of Engagement" and you can hear the fucking capital letters he puts in there.

"Alright then" and he languidly waves a hand "carry on"

The angel rises to his feet, and begins to unbutton his waistcoat, removes the dreadful fucking tartan bow tie, waves away his shoes and socks, and rolls up his shirt sleeves. Thoughtfully, Crowley waves away his own footwear, and divests himself of some layers, until he his down to his sinfully cut black silk shirt and black painted on jeans.

The angel gestures to the spot on the sofa between the demons precariously spread thighs and asks quietly "May I" and waits til the demon nods and makes a bit more space. Aziraphale perches a bit awkwardly with one knee tucked under him but it's the only way they can be face to face, and Crowley will be damned a second time if he is going to make it easy on him.

They stare at each other for a long moment _it was so much easier before when they just went for it, but Crowley was going to lie in this metaphorical bed, now he had made it _ and the angel reached out a hand slowly to his face, eyes asking the question and he takes pity on him and blinks agreement.

_He tries not to notice how the hand trembles as it cups his jaw, traces a line of fire from his temple, down his neck and along his collarbone, oh so slowly_

Aziraphales voice is breathy and his tone is reverent "You are so beautiful, my darling demon" and his eyes have changed colour to that smoke dark blue again

Crowley takes pity on him and sits forward abruptly so that they are face to face again and murmurs "Kiss me angel, I dare you" and it's the softness, most gentle pressing of lips. A merest butterfly flutter, a patter of them along his jaw, down his neck, and he hisses as the bruised marks from their first go round are pressed upon.

The angel pulls back and lays a gentle finger on them and Crowley twigs to his intention and says harshly "No!" and further to the angelic confusion he adds "They are going to bruise, I want you to see them and be reminded".

_Oh the unkindest cut of all_

Having made his point he turns to the angel, takes his chin in one hand and says "I'm going to kiss you now" and waits for the quiet "Oh yes please"

His lips are firm, and he kisses with angry intent and slowly the angel responds in kind and the pair of them begin to relax, and enjoy themselves.

_Its good, its nice, but its not the same as it was before and he needs ….more_

At the point they nearly fall of the sofa together, Crowley asks "I know you never sleep angel, but do you even have a bed in this place?"

A slight sideways look from the angel hints that while he didn't a nanosecond ago, he does now, and he rises and leads the way to a long forgotten door across the room, up the stairs to the rarely used flat.


	4. Chapter 4

The room is one huge living space, with a kitchenette off to one side, a door to the laundry and bathroom facilities. Tucked in one corner is a king sized bed made up with loads of the stupid fucking throw pillows, a quilted comforter and expensive thread count white cotton sheets.

Crowley takes one look, and blinks, and a room encloses the bed, with a very solid wooden door in the doorway. The headboard is now elaborate wrought iron, but the solid masculine kind, not frou frou decorative. Its wrought iron that's designed to be used…and all the fucking pillows are banished.

Another blink adds some side tables loaded up with stacks of tall white long burning candles. Aziraphale looks a question at him and Crowley smirks at him and replies "Ambience, darling, ambience".

Crowley gestures forward with jovial politeness "Lead the way old chap" and the uncharacteristically quiet angel stares hard at him before moving forward into the room. Crowley follows promptly behind him, and as the door slams shut behind them, he catches Aziraphale by one arm, twists the wrist up behind him in a way that's uncomfortable but not painful unless you struggle and pushes him face first in to the wall, crowding up behind him and snarling with quiet menace in one quivering angelic ear "Now a taste of your own fucking medicine" and he twists on the wrist just enough to have the angel shudder underneath him and cry out "Crowley OW What? Why?"

"Yes Aziraphale" and he sinks all the disgust he can into the syllables of the angels name "that's exactly what I want to know"

"What exactly did you have planned down there before I put a stop to your potential rape attempt?" At the outraged stiffening of the angel underneath him, he tweaks the wrist a bit more and says "That'ssss what non conssssensssssual sssssex is, rape. I know how fond you are of wordsss, so let ussss use the proper one for the ssssituation"

"Tell me ssspecfically, what you had in mind for me downssstairsss. I want to know"

Aziraphale strains underneath him for a moment, but he is pinned well and truly but rallies "Let me go and I will tell you"

"Detailssss angel, I want all the dark dirty detailsss" and the angel nods. Crowley, being the complete bastard that he is, does the passive aggressive hold for a second longer than he should and then lets go, stepping away from the angel.

Aziraphale turns slowly, back to the wall, taking a long moment to stretch his twisted arm and rub at his wrist, and his expression in the flickering candlelight, is not happy. Crowley smiles in his widest most mocking manner, flinging his hands out "Well?" he taunts the sullen angry angel.

Biting a lip he rallies "What happened to boundaries and consent?" as he continued to rub at his violated wrist.

Crowley took a long step forward, close enough to loom and murmured "Consequences, angel dearest. It all gets *very* fucking real when there are consequences", and he steps back again, waving a negligent hand while leaning casually on what is now the column of a wrought iron four poster bed "Talk. Now. Details"

Aziraphale straightened and went to tug at the waistcoat he wasn't wearing _nervous tic _instead running suddenly sweaty hands down the front of his mostly untucked shirt "Yes, right, intentions" and he did his usual trailing off, in avoidance of the question, that had continually irked Crowley for literally thousands of years. He was DONE with it and made a hurry up gesture with his hand "Tick tock angel"

The angel clears his throat and announces quietly " I wanted to kiss you, taste you, leave my mark on you. I wanted to kneel in front of you and swallow down every inch of your cock til you begged me to stop, and I wanted to tie you down and fuck you until your throat was raw from screaming"

A *very* loaded silence filled the room and Crowley suddenly wished for the protection of his sunglasses, because that was Not A Sentence He Expected To Hear Angelic Lips Ever Utter.

With a casual shrug he slithers upright and stalks over to the angel, muttering "Sounds like a good place to start" with brutal aplomb and he takes the angels jaw in one firm grip, turning the face up to his, allowing the firelight to play across Aziraphale's face and brings his face close enough to kiss and he hisses "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why me? Why now? Why like that?"

The angel angrily twitches his jaw out of his grasp and stares up at him, and Crowley can see the restrained anger boiling away in those eyes, the faintest flicker of lightning in the roiling storm blue and he knows he has hit a nerve. No more unanswered questions, no more dancing around the subject, he wanted answers and the nearest form of truth he could get.

He plants his hands on the wall on either side of the angel and then leans against him to snarl "Answer me Aziraphale"

A throat swallow and a hand presses on his chest "Get off me Crowley, give me some space to think" With a hiss and a slither, Crowley resumes his lean against the bedpost, arms crosses and head tilted in such a way as to give a clear message that 'no pissing about with an answer is going to be allowed, is that fucking clear?'

_Body language, is a fucking delight once you get the hang of it_

With a deep breath the angel raises his head, and appears to make the commitment to go all in "Why you? Who else is there? Has there ever been for me?" Crowley purses his lips and nods for the angel to continue "Why not now?"

Aziraphale steps forward hesitantly and pauses " I used to be so caught up in the rules, the structure of Heaven. There was always a *right* way to do things, and I believed it was right and good and true" a longer pause. " We have both seen that its just really a giant fucking cosmic joke, and my dearest, I am tired of playing by the stupid fucking rules that they keep changing to suit themselves".

Its clearly not all of the answer so Crowley drawls "Yes, and"

The angel flicks a glance up to him and then looks away and then sighs "I used to think that the worst thing that could happen to me was that I would Fall. That they had sent you to me to tempt me to do so, and oh you tempt me to so many many things" and he trailed off in that fucking annoying way again

Crowley clicked his fingers twice "Over here angel" and the blue gaze settles on his before continuing " Well, Armageddon almost happened and I realised that there were worse things that could happen. And the worst one of all was that I could continue to deny how I really felt about you. Then you called me your love, and well" angelic shoulders shrugged delicately "I may have snapped just a smidgeon"

_Oh dear L….G….Someone!_

Crowley let a lazy smile play over his face and drawls "come here angel" and when the blond celestial being in human male form gets within range he coils an arm out to snug a hand behind his head, and bring his face in for a throat swabbing kiss that leaves them both trembling.

He rests his forehead against the pale blond one, and murmurs "That's truly what you want to do to me, be in control, take charge and use me?" Forestalling a stammering apologetic response he holds a finger up to the adorable bow lips "Yes or No angel"

A nod and a whispered "Oh yes" and Crowley breathes "Why didn't you just say so?" and throws himself dramatically back on the bed, arms spread wide and suddenly restrained by taut pliable leather restraints

_Stylish black of course…_

Aziraphale stares down at him in shock and barely hears the demon say "Communication, discussion, boundaries, safewords, consent, aftercare and a truly disturbing amount of cuddling, those my darling angel, those will get you anything, anything you want"

They stare at each other for a long fraught moment and Aziraphale whispers "Anything?"

"Anything."


End file.
